


sweetheart, what have you done to us?

by loveinamaltshop



Category: Be More Chill - Iconis/Tracz
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Canon Compliant, Comfort Sex, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Frottage, Jeremy is there, M/M, Michael tries to deal with feelings he doesn't think are valid, Possessiveness kink if you squint, Post-Squip, They're just a couple of boys who've been through too much
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-28
Updated: 2017-07-28
Packaged: 2018-12-08 06:30:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,829
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11640888
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/loveinamaltshop/pseuds/loveinamaltshop
Summary: "The days after are when Jeremy is the furthest thing from okay. Michael does all he can, even when he isn’t either."During a sleepover, Michael ends up unraveling, after too many nights of holding it together.





	sweetheart, what have you done to us?

**Author's Note:**

> Title taken from Keaton Henson's "[Sweetheart, What Have You Done To Us?](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MCNtWKdi5Ds)." Cross-posted on [Tumblr.](https://starkerpeter.tumblr.com/post/163540622433/fic-sweetheart-what-have-you-done-to-us-r)

The days after are when Jeremy is the furthest thing from okay.

Michael does all he can, even when he isn’t either. He smiles harder than he should and buys an extra container of sushi from 7-Eleven during his lunch runs and stays awake during their sleepovers because he knows Jeremy’s going to wake up two hours after they’ve both gone to bed on the air mattress in his basement.

So here they were, in the stillness of the night. Jeremy’s body was twisted up in the quilt Michael lent him. The night is too still. His eyes are only half open, but they’re trained on the back of Jeremy’s head, where the lone light of a street lamp somewhere above traces at him.

He tries not to think about how only weeks ago, something beyond their worst nightmares was implanted in his head, making Jeremy nothing but a vessel. An empty hollow shell of what used to be Michael’s best friend of twelve years that made him mindless and cruel. Empty eyes that didn’t even _see_ Michael. A marionette to this monster in his head that Jeremy entrusted in the veiled promise of popularity or some girl or some motive neither of them really can concretely remember Jeremy wanting.

In the end, nothing was worth to have seen him _unmade_.

Michael doesn’t let his eyes close for more than a few seconds. He knows the entire experience may never hurt him like it hurt Jeremy, but he can’t deny the kind of hurt that encompassed him during the entire ordeal. He thought he was going to lose his best friend. Lose him. And, well. Lose _lose_ him.

He shakes off the thought with a tight squeeze of his eyes and sits up on the mattress, making it shift slightly. He rubs his eye with the heel of his palm and sighs out. All desire of going back to sleep is gone. Despite this, his body feels twice as exhausted.

He thinks about the bathroom and what that meant for them. He knew it was the Squip. Knows with all his heart it wasn’t his best friend in that moment. His jaw locks at the thought of sitting on the bathtub and hearing the noise of the party before his own thoughts had consumed him and all he had remembered was his own breathing and the unforgiving repeats of _loser loser loserloserloser—_

“Michael?”

Jeremy. He’s looking over his shoulder and up at Michael, a glassy look in his eye. From the minimal light coming in, his hair is disheveled _everywhere_ . It’s adorable, and so natural and Michael feels a blush creep when he realizes he’s probably the only person who’s ever seen Jeremy like this. Jeremy Heere, who has the faintest snores and is a blanket stealer and whose voice gets noticeably higher when he’s groggy. What is able to trickle away from his mind about the Halloween party does. What doesn’t stays. (Too much of it does, frankly.) Marionette Jeremy isn’t here anymore. This is his Jeremy. _His_. Michael repeats the sole pronoun in his head stubbornly, as if every time lets him set down a brick to make a bridge for the distance that was still now too palpable.

“Yeah, Jer?” he asks. The words still feel heavy in his mouth. He palms the floor for his glasses, sliding them on. Sees his Jeremy. More bricks down. Michael’s really trying.

“Why’re you up?”

Michael’s heart damn near breaks when he hears him ask that. He doesn’t want to tell him he’s been up since 1 am because he’s waiting for Jeremy to jolt awake in cold sweat, and possibly just stand up and leave. To realize, this isn’t his best friend anymore or something not too far off. Michael inhales sharply, feeling the bridge crumbling. No, _no_ . Jeremy is still _his_ best friend. His _his his_.

Jeremy looks more awake now at his silence. He shifts to his side, propping himself up on one elbow. Michael doesn’t want to say anything. Doesn’t want to ruin whatever they have that’s still dangling on a lone thread.

“‘M thinking,” Michael shrugs as he continues to keep rubbing at his eyes. He’s too tired. Too awake. At the same time.

“ _Michael_ ,” and Michael wants to cry then and there. He hates how Jeremy says his name. He feels way too guilty that he’s so hesitant to close the gap, to finish the goddamn bridge. If it wasn’t for that fucking Squip, if it wasn’t for fucking high school that pressured his best friend to want to be popular to take _those_ measures, he wouldn't be feeling any of this. Jeremy says his name so gently, so fucking sweetly, as if the entire experience managed to stitch them together tighter than they already were at the hip. As if everything was supposed to make them stronger and better and to still make sense. “Michael. Say something, please?”

And he breaks down, because it’s not fair. Jeremy’s his best friend and Jeremy’s everything to him. But Michael can’t forget. Can’t let go. Jeremy doesn’t remember. But Jeremy went through pain. Jeremy was scared and afraid and he was so damn _close_ to losing his mind. He feels the hot tears streaming down his face. _I’m selfish. I’m just a selfish fucking asshole crying because I can’t deal with things that didn’t even really come from my best friend’s right mind._

Jeremy moves immediately, crawling on the too-big air mattress and kneels between Michael’s legs. His movements are slow, deliberate, but with purpose. He pulls away Michael’s glasses. The room’s too silent and he hears every hitch of breath that comes out of his best friend.

Michael looks up. Without his glasses and now, with the crying, Jeremy is just a blurry silhouette but he can feel the warm, _warm_ that’s near him now. His palms move to his face and he starts sobbing, furiously pushing away the tears.

There’s a pair of shaky hands that push his own away, thumbs that push away the wetness on his cheeks.

“I’m so fucking selfish, Jeremy,” he echoes his thoughts from earlier, fingers creeping at the other boy’s wrists “I’m fucking selfish.”

“What the hell are you talking about?” Jeremy murmurs, a genuinely confused expression on his face.

“I can’t stop thinking about _—_ fuck, I don’t even know, Jer,” Michael takes the sleeve of his sweatshirt and wipes it across his face before exhaling loudly “I’m upset?”

“I can see that pretty clear, dude,” There’s an uneasy smile on Jeremy’s lips. Michael laughs bitterly before Jeremy’s pushing back at the hair that’s fallen down on Michael’s sweating forehead as he asks “Talk to me here.”

Michael lets out a small whine before his head falls on Jeremy’s shoulder. He can’t stop crying. He’s shaking and his hands are clutching Jeremy’s forearms like a lifeline where they are now on his shoulder. His words come out almost incoherent under the sound of shaky, terrified sobs “I was _—_ I was,”

“You were?”

“So fucking scared, Jere,” he says too shakily that Jeremy loosens the grip and his hands find themselves by the crooks between Michael’s shoulder and neck. He massages the muscle there in firm circles. He can see Michael relax by the most minuscule of increments and he runs his hands over his shoulders, suddenly wants to give him the touch he wasn't able to while he was squipped. “I could’ve lost you, Jeremy. I didn’t know who the fuck this guy in my best friend’s body was. You got _so_ hurt, Jeremy. You hurt so many people. You ended up hurting yourself too.”

Jeremy’s eyebrows are furrowed and his hands keep touching Michael’s cheeks, arms, chest and he feels his body quaking wherever he touches and he just wants it to stop for Michael. The boy is shaking and they’re both just too fucking scared and they both feel so small and young all of the sudden, just clinging onto each other like that.

“How do you expect me to sleep at night, Jeremy?” Michael’s hands are shaking, causing Jeremy’s own to shake where he can’t let go of him, by his wiry forearms. He coughs harshly, shaking his head, before he looks up “When every time you or I go to sleep, we’ll both just fall right back into that living nightmare? I don’t know how to be okay, Jere. That makes me feel so much fucking worse. I don’t even feel like I have the right to feel bad.”

The last sentences barely come out in a whisper, prompting Jeremy to wind his hands around Michael’s own. Surprisingly soft and felt way too right.

“Michael, of course you do,” Jeremy insists. Pleads, almost. He sits back on his heels and there’s enough light that hits Jeremy and Michael just might believe him “You went through all of this. More than half the time, without me.”

Michael sucks in his lips and shakes his head defiantly. “I feel like shit for feeling like shit. I didn’t even go through half of the things you did. And,” his breath hitches “I still don’t even...believe we’re best friends. Still.”

At this point, Jeremy looks like he’s been slapped in the face. This is where he pulls away. This is when several _you fucked up_ s swim around Michael’s head.

“I don’t know why I said that,” Michael blurts out instead “It’s just. Fuck. I don’t know. I don’t know, Jere.”

“Nothing has to change, Michael,” Jeremy says.

Michael wishes he never said anything. Just shut up and pretend everything was okay.

It’s when Jeremy whispers “Not everything’s okay,” is when he realizes he’s been thinking out loud.

“Everyone’s moved on. I’m still scared? That’s so freaking stupid, right?”

Jeremy shakes his head solemnly before he finds himself pulling Michael into a tight hug. He’s stopped shaking but the way Michael grips the back of Jeremy’s shirt is still indicative of his state. “It’s not stupid. You’re anything but stupid, Michael.”

Michael moves closer. He buries himself in Jeremy’s neck. This is his best friend. _His_ best friend. _His_ Jeremy.

“It was real, Michael.” Jeremy assures him slowly, and he finds himself wrapping around the other boy to pull him impossibly closer “But this is, too. Everything you’re feeling is _real_.”

Michael swallows shakily as he’s looking up. Simply, he believes Jeremy. Maybe it’s how shaky Jeremy’s voice sounds too. Human and scared and even a little unsure of himself. Maybe it’s how he’s in a thick sweatshirt and Jeremy’s too close and he’s sweating and it _is_ real and it’s kind of gross that his sweaty forehead was on his best friend’s warm, musk and clean fabric-smelling skin. Real. His best friend being way too close ever since he escaped the sanctuary of his neck. Real, too.

Jeremy now looking at him, sucking on his lip now, an action that completely catches Michael off guard. For a second, yes, a teenage boy does take over and hormones do surge, leaving his jaw to hang slightly. They can feel each other’s breath hit the other and neither of them really managed to realize that Jeremy was straddling Michael. It’s silent. And there’s too much silence.

It’s Jeremy who ducks his head and lets his lips brush against Michael’s experimentally. Michael had let his eyes fall and let his mouth stay open, tilting his jaw upwards. Jeremy fights back a smile at the sight of Michael’s face.

So he proves to Michael something real. He’s kissing him too hard, he knows this, but he had only been kissing anyone other than the back of his hand the past month. _He was going for romantic_ , he’ll tell Michael one day in the future.

Michael gets his hands to not shake as much, but they still are when his hands reach up for Jeremy’s cheeks. Jeremy’s own hands touch at the the top of his before they fall on Michael’s chest, bunching up the fabric. Michael can feel his face becoming too feverish when he feels the other boy’s tongue into his mouth, tentatively lapping at his. It’s messy, the way he kisses Jeremy, with his tongue too excited to reciprocate and his shaky moans when Jeremy would suck on his bottom lip.

He shifts, falling on top of Jeremy, where he’s on his hands and knees to keep kissing the boy under him ( _holy fuck, Jeremy, his best friend of twelve years, is under him_ ), to just keep kissing because it feels too good to stop and he can’t think of any valid reasons to keep doing _just this_ all his life.

For a moment, they’re boys. Boys who don’t think of the consequences and boys who don’t dwell in the past. They let _this_ happen instead.

It’s Michael’s elbows and knees giving in when finding himself grinding against Jeremy’s pajama pants. They’re both surprisingly hard and Michael keeps dipping his hips against the other boy’s as his hand snakes up his shirt, nails grazing at the skin, _his_ Jeremy’s skin.

“Fuck,” escapes from Jeremy’s lips and he feels Michael’s too willing mouth kissing at his neck. He licks a long stripe against the length of it and Jeremy’s hips buck up, trying to find the friction he lost. Jeremy’s shirt comes off and so does Michael’s sweatshirt.

Both pairs of hands move to search at the newly exposed skin, mouths meeting each other again. It’s hungrier now, noises carelessly spilling out of their lips. Jeremy had pulled Michael down, causing him to writhe against him. He starts to rub against him, and it’s laughably desperate but they both need it, and they both need it so badly it’s starting to hurt.

“C’mon, man,” Jeremy whispers into Michael’s ear, before he begins nipping at his jaw, fingers palming over the other’s chest, over his nipples.  

“Jere,” Michael breathes out, planting a wet kiss on the other’s mouth.

“Yeah?”

“You’re so beautiful,” Michael admits, and he means it.

Jeremy grabs the back of Michael’s neck and kisses him, because that was about the cheesiest thing he’s ever heard Michael say to him and he fucking _loves_ it. His hand snakes into the back of Michael’s pajamas and fuck, he isn’t wearing any underwear, indicative as he’s squeezing his best friend’s ass.

This new information turns him on only further, and he’s grinding up against Michael, who wordlessly grinds down too until they’ve got this rhythm that truly makes the both of them stop and think why they didn’t do this much, much sooner.

“I freaking love you,” Michael moans into Jeremy’s mouth, and he’s so achingly hard the sound of Jeremy whining against his ear, paired with the sensation against his lips send him coming hard in his pants. He kisses Jeremy harder, trying to muffle the noise because _shit_ , there were still people sleeping above the basement.

Jeremy looks up at Michael, whose face radiates warmth and looks absolutely spent and he doesn’t even realize he gets his cock out and was stroking fast with Michael lying by his side and kissing his neck, kitten licks and nips before he comes as well, over his stomach and fist, a single groan of _Michael_ escaping him.

They’re both trying so hard to catch their breath, and neither of them remember who reached for the other’s hand. But their hands were joined between them, Michael’s fingers thick where Jeremy’s were longer, thinner, but to them it just felt _right_.

“Hey, uh,” Jeremy clears his throat “I freaking love you too, dude.”

Michael laughs, and it’s real. Jeremy’s heart manages to beat faster than it already is.

“We’ll talk tomorrow?” Jeremy whispers, as he’s wiping his stomach clean against the waistband of his pants.

Michael presses himself against Jeremy, an arm finding its way around his waist, warm cheek meeting a heaving chest. “Mhm,” he musters tiredly.

It becomes the best Michael’s slept in a while.

 

* * *

 

Sex, as they found out, doesn’t really fix anything overnight.

It takes a couple more weeks until Michael honestly can feel like they’re _them_ again. He’s not sure if it’s any better, but it’s different. It’s there.

Michael Mell will never be okay from the events that surrounded Jeremy Heere’s venture with the Squip. He wants to be Jeremy to feel like Rich, who brings it up every time says it’s made him realize he likes himself better for himself, or Christine, who’s glad she can still have her integrity despite her admitted apprehensions.

Instead, Jeremy never mentions the Squip again, both unsure if it’s for the other boy’s sake or for themselves.

Both of them are glad, however, that they get to kiss more in Michael’s basement. Michael’s still wary of Jeremy’s nightmares like Jeremy is still, with Michael’s episodes. They’re on the road to okay, they have each other for just that, and that alone was beyond anything they could have asked for.

**Author's Note:**

> Please do leave a review!


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